


Vindictive

by BlancThePotatoMage



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crimelord!Villain!Hanzo, M/M, Overwatch - Freeform, Vigilante!Hero!McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 14:35:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlancThePotatoMage/pseuds/BlancThePotatoMage
Summary: Its funny how somethings turn out like fate had meant it to happen.





	Vindictive

Rain clatters on the rooftops, city lights beaming across rolling clouds, chasing silhouettes across the skyline. Crimelords’s hair billows behind him as in ink scape, metal boots clashing unfavorably against the concrete of skyscrapers. It hadn’t meant to go like this. It was just another check, just to keep the little flunkies in line, trying to track down the mole among his men. He hadn’t thought them smart enough to arrange for Vigilante to crash the party.

It wasn’t to work in their favor, he had shot the traitor in the chest, before he had evacuated to the fire escape on the side. It wasn’t unusual for Vigilante to crash his plan, to foil him and Crimelord to make a clean getaway. But of course—Vigilante had always been unpredictable. It had been clock work, he’d stir something up, Vigilante would stop him, and he’d get away by the end of it. 

Tonight…tonight had been different.

There was a fire in their eye he had never seen, a rage barely contained that shook him to the core. Vigilante had never tried to kill him, too good for that—but tonight, he’d barely gotten away with his head on his shoulders. His ear still stings from where the bullet nicked it, blood and rainwater ruining his nice coat and mask.

He had escaped, but they didn’t stop. Not like usual. They ran after him, and through the rain and clash of thunder in the distance he can still hear the clatter of their boots. His arrows were long gone by now, and he feared for his lack of vision in the rain.

He panted, the mask wet and heady to breathe through, his clothes clinging to his frame now, and he knew he was running for his life. He faltered—just slightly, but it was enough. The loud bang of the gun going off set flame to his shoulder, crying out as it made contact and pierced clean through the worn clothes. 

Warm blood spread over his chilled skin and pain blossomed, gripping his shoulder as he stumbled on. Something coiled like a snake in his gut and he knew it had nothing to do with the agony rendering his arm, but the fact he knew Vigilante never misses. It settled like a stone in his shoulders, and turned his veins to ice.

He could hear them, those idiotic spurs he hated so much clanging closer, like the knocking of death’s door, mocking him. He slowed, no more ledge and no more roof top to run to. The air was thin, crisp and his breath left him in clouds. Crimelord stood tall at its precipice, and turned to face his enemy. No one would dare to call him a coward when meeting death; he looked in the masked eyes of his former enemy, and saw the flames of hell stare back.

The spotlight was on them now, and Crimelord’s hands left his bleeding shoulders and stood tall before them. Even now, sitting on the edge of the tower, Vigilante towered him. Rain water dripped off the brim of their hat, shadowing the bright flame that focused in on him. He’d never seen rage burn so brightly, flickering like candlelight with unsung justice. Vigilante burns bright with fury, eyes narrow and teeth grit, hatred had never been so piercing in their eyes.

“Why?” 

The question catches Crimelord off-guard, the soft growl of their voice casting him astray.

“Why’d you do it!?” They asked again, growling, threatening, screaming at him. Crimelord is stiff—not for the screaming, not for their rage, but for the sorrow behind the voice. Crimelord doesn’t flinch when the gun is raised; he doesn’t flinch when the safety clicks into place with one more round. He knows they don’t need more than that. It was meant to threaten him, waving the gun tucked under his chin like a mad man.

“Ah know you play damn dirty you son of a bitch, but you didn’t hav’ tah to do it! Have to shoot mah huckleberry like that! He didn’t do nothing to yah! Ya’ll could’ve left him alone! But no—You had to drag them intah this didn’t you!?”

Confusion ran through his head, staring at their rage, watching them explode, a bomb gone off that he’d detonated. Their eyes were wild, and it took him more than a moment to realize their eyes were filled with tears and not rain. He’d dare not move.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Crimelord tried, watching as they swing the gun back under his chin, forcing him back, back, back until he was pressed between the edge and their chest, caught staring up into their eyes. He felt the draft behind him, where he could easily be pushed off, and he realized anything could set them off at this moment.

“Don’t you play coy with me…you killed him in cold blood and you know it…You killed mah Huckleberry, you took Hanzo Shimada.”

Crimelord’s eyes widen, and his stomach turned as he watched Vigilante’s eyes crinkle at his recognition.

“So—you do remember. Did you take satisfaction in knowing you hurt me? Knowing you’ve driven me to this?” They laugh, something dark and sinister that makes Crimelord’s stomach drop. He hadn’t—He hadn’t known.

Hanzo Shimada was his civilian alter ego, he’d faked his death when he realized he couldn’t be dragging his lover—his husband, into the danger of his business. He had simply blamed it on Crimelord for the convenience—he hadn’t considered…

But that’d mean…

Crimelord’s head was wrapping around itself, nauseous and wide-eyed. 

“Jesse…”

They pulled the trigger, and suddenly, Hanzo plummeted. Car alarms blared with cacophonous smash of his body on the vehicle below, the sinking crunch of bone and splatter of blood that dripped down the jagged bend of the roof.

Jesse stared down the building’s length, and felt nothing. The rage, the flame burning now left him cold and soaked in the rain. Slowly, he turned, boots clinking as he turned from the scene, leaving their body to be found by the police, where he’d be long gone by then.


End file.
